Our Decay
by Miss Crossbow
Summary: "We cried. We cried together. Not because we were sad, but because we were broken. It was awful, it was excruciatingly painful, I hated it - but we were together." [Harry Goldfarb x OC] One-shot.


**A/N: Here's another piece, after a two month's break. I had gotten a little rusty, but at least, this got my imagination up and running again. If you're asking, what is this all about, I cannot tell you; I don't know myself. It's funny really, I'm not sure whether I have affection for the character himself, or just the actor (because let's face it, Jared Leto is God, lol). But I do know that this movie was one of the most inspiring things I had ever seen, and I still can't get over it...Heard they labelled it as one of the best in the entire decade, to which I wholeheartedly agree.**

**Either way, about this ficlet, it is written as short, separate scenes, divided up into the same segments as the movie: Summer, Fall (Autumn), Winter and Spring. The OC's name is Karen Brooks, and she is a childhood friend of Harry and Marion. She knows they're addicts and is in love with Harry (whereas I can assure you that this isn't your typical romance at all), and she has a few 'fits' of her own. You'll see what I mean. I also paid attention to the way she meets her 'requiem'. Along with the other characters, her 'addiction' is brought in Summer; she enjoys it in Fall; she starts feeling depraved and the suffering begins in Winter; the culmination and the final denouement happen in Spring.**

**Anyway, hope you like the fic, it's nothing like the stuff I usually write, and it's my first time writing a story in first person. I blame my dear Dostoyevsky for this, lol. I initially planned for this to be a one-shot, but if inspiration kicks in, perhaps it'll become a multi-fic. RFAD needs more love, y'all! Do give me Reviews, I'll give you cookies! Later!**

* * *

**- SUMMER -**

He had his drugs. But he was my drug.

They say, when you've something you focus deeply upon, depending on your devotion, hardly anything may drive you away. Not even the fundamental requisites a living being needs to fulfill; like eating, or sleeping, for example. It takes you away; far, far away, shelters you from the clutches of reality, sets you free…But at the same time, slowly, akin to the coiling of a snake, it bounds you to itself. It never let's you be, never allows you to escape. It becomes the clutches itself, and you feel imprisoned, alike to a caged bird.

You have the greatest urge to break free.

You want to be free.

I want to be free. But he won't let me; he holds me tightly in that pale, sweaty hand of his. Perhaps, my imagination allows me, tighter than that putrid substance that does him the same he does to myself. For years and years now...

It's irrational, very crude of me to say even, that his addiction is the only part of him that disgusts me. Yet, I suffer from the same kind of obligation. Or similar, whatever may suit me in the given moment of thought.

Since I've known him, I've come to look far beyond of what used to be my dreams and goals. And as each day is laid to waste, one after another, all of my ambitions began to fade. I felt emptier and emptier, unclean and rabid.

Selfish. Because I wanted him mine. Mine and mine alone.

Yet, I knew, I could never afford him.

_It's just a phase in passing_, I used to tell myself. _It will go away in the blink of an eye, in a crackle of fingers_, I lied. And the beautiful lie would soothe me. It would be sufficient enough to live until tomorrow comes.

Yes, this is it: I lived, only to die another day.

I am a machine; no longer alive; just a void shell, holding onto what will faultlessly consume me. And I will disappear into the wind.

_Until..._

**_-0-0-0-_**

**- FALL -**

"Marion," I seated myself onto the sofa, as I watched my friend set the cigarette alight. She was paler than I remembered her since the last time we've spoken.

"Hm?" she glances at me blatantly. My fingers fidget as I make an apologizing smile.

"Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice."

I earn myself a chuckle from her behalf.

"So silly," she remarks, exhaling some smoke into my face, as if to humor me, "Just what Harry and I like about you."

I am unable to hold back a twitch. But I quickly calm myself. Of course, she wouldn't know, she mustn't know. That was canon law to me.

"And how is Harry?" I look away from Marion, fixating my glance upon the rubble settled on the table before us; various papers, lighters and...Some alien powders, all clumsily lying atop one another. Well, as I recall, Marion was never the one to care for aesthetics. But one object grasps the utmost of my attention.

"Oh, as usual."

A photography, rather; a memorable moment of a young, grinning couple. The man is young, tall and pale. His hair is the color of coal, and his eyes - the purest shade of verdant. I stop to stare at his smile, defeated by the whiteness and honesty it offers. As for her, well...She is sitting right next to me.

"Usual?" I ask, stretching my arm towards the table.

"Yes," Marion simply declares, throwing out more smoke into the atmosphere around us. I pick the photography up and bring it closer to myself; struck, perhaps mesmerized.

Smiling she touches my shoulder, making me avert my eyes back to herself. A childish smile adorned her face.

"You miss him, don't you? Don't worry, he and Tyrone will be over soon. Will you stick around for dinner?" she winks at me, and I laugh out. Here we go again; as always, this dinner is not really a dinner. Just a petite spree with alcohol, cigarettes, and whatever the devil they were onto now.

_Until..._

"Of course," I respond, my glance becoming vacant and my smile wider. Marion taps my shoulder. Her face seems promising, as we both turn our stares toward the door; a knock.

_Until that day..._

_**-0-0-0-**_

**- WINTER -**

Since I awoke at the second hour in the morning, I've felt bothered by the fact that my apartment had become this unclean. I myself became unclean. It has been so long since I've worn make-up, or dressed nicely, or took a random stroll downtown. I've cut all of my bonds with friends and family.

Except one.

As I dwelled in the dark upon the pantry, trying to find the jogger and a bucket, I swivel about, wincing as the phone mercilessly began to tear the room's silence. Hesitantly dropping the jogger, I make my way to the phone and slowly pick it up.

Nervous breathing and whimpering could be heard from the other side.

"...Karen?"

At first, I fail to recognize the voice, as it was only a tiny, barely audible breath. I knit my brows and strain my ears.

"Karen...? Are you there...?"

"Who is this?"

A small pause ensues as some rustling could be heard.

"It's me. Please..."

My knees almost betrayed me.

"H-Harry? What? Why are you calling at this hour?"

Silence.

"Is everything alright? Harry?"

"Shh..." is the muffled reply I receive to my inquiries. A few seconds fleet away, and the call ends.

Astonished, I put the phone back in its place, wondering about what was the meaning of all that. Was Harry, I gulped, in some kind of trouble? Should I pay him a visit?

But my neighbors will consider me insane if they see me travelling outside at this time of the night. And those vultures never sleep. They live to spy on others, I know it. I blame it all on the shows that air on television these days; they turn people into brainless puppets. The media is just used to achieve the ends of men behind the curtain...

I stop my train of thoughts there; really, I turn into such a geek when I've my fits of insomnia. How petty really. But nonetheless humorous. I fill the bucket with water, but before I could brim it, the phone begins ringing yet again.

As I drop the metal lid with a loud _thud_, I make a mental note to buy one of these wireless phones as soon as I get the money, so I don't have to run into one corner of the room each time to answer the damn thing.

"Hello?"

"Karen, it's Harry. Can you hear me?"

A shudder runs down my spine.

"Yes, I hear you, buddy. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but..."

Pause. As another minute passes in monotonous, heavy hush, I slowly begin losing my patience.

"_But_? H, c'mon, tell me."

I listen to him sigh for a couple of moments, before he finally speaks.

"Look," he utters quietly, forcing my ears to strain again, "If this wasn't complete fucking emergency, I wouldn't be bothering you at all, believe me."

As much as I didn't like the sound of his words, I nod, assuring him to continue.

"You know what Marion and I do, don't you?" he deadpans, and I can tell this is a lot harder for him than it is for me.

"Yeah...What about it?" I urgently comply, as I realize that I had been silent for a bit longer than required. Harry huffs from the other line; he is building up courage for what he's about to say.

"Please...Please don't hate me...Don't hate us..." he stutters.

"How in the hell could I ever hate you?"

"I...I..."

As much as I thirst for the answer, I don't wish to scare him, and therefore, I give him the proper space. And finally, after a few minutes, he bestows it.

"We...We need money...We're all out because of that fucking post bail. And we're going to fucking blow if we don't get _some_...Y'know? Please, if you can help us, we-"

"I'm sorry, H...I...I'm downright broke myself. I swear. I hadn't paid my rent in four months. They'll kick me out if I don't get a job soon. I swear. You know I'd help if I could."

I can feel disappointment and rejection in that prompt, quivering breath of his coiling from the other side; I have no idea if he trusts any of my words, but one I am aware of: I will see less of him in the future.

"Uh-huh..." he finally answers, and as I attempted to shower him with another wave of apologies, he hung up.

_Until that day..._

Oh, how lucky am I, to be in love with an addict?

_When we all..._

**_-0-0-0-_**

**- SPRING -**

I ran up the stairs, mind racing and eyes ablaze, crashing straight into Marion's apartment. I was completely aware I was going mad, and perhaps this very awareness contributed to the fact that less and less of me was left as each day passed. I lived in some kind of expectation...But until that occurs, I know I wasn't imagining anything, and that my sight would never deceive me.

She looked up at me, tired orbs quaking in surprise. I had my doubts, but...Nothing bad would come out of it if I simply _asked_, no?

"Mare," I approached her cautiously; she was putting on her mascara, but it looked as though she had been crying for the past few minutes. A dirtied rag was settled next to her, and her apartment was now a true disaster. You could barely find a place to stand from all the rotting trash on the floor.

"Mare!" I repeated, seeing as she didn't answer. She looked away, as if I was scaring her. Before I could truly fathom what was going on, I noticed she was holding onto a photography; I guessed, the one with Harry and herself. But something else caught my attention.

A phone-number, and not just any - Big Tim, the owner of a local strip club. And the said strip club was not always just about stripping. Full-blown orgies were launched there, and Lord knows what more...

My fears had just been confirmed. My conscience immediately prevailing, I snapped the photo out of her fingers' grip, as the mascara tube clattered to the floor. Marion winced frightfully.

"Don't tell me..." I whispered, as I emptily stared at the digits, "Please don't fucking tell me..."

Marion covered her face with her hands; guilty as charged. She quietly sobbed as I touched her shoulder, wherewith she'd flinch, trying to back away.

"...Mare, why? You don't have to do it...You don't have to at all," my lips quivered as I tried to comfort her, to delve into her sorrow, convince her of my words. But to no present avail. She still sobbed, forcing her hands upon her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered, "I'm so, so sorry...So _fucking_ _sorry_..." she wasn't speaking to me, as if she ignored my very existence.

The quiet sobbing soon became a hysterical cry; Marion broke to the floor, twisting and turning about herself, as if she was having a seizure. And I sat there, doing...Absolutely nothing. Just watching her, observing, as if from afar, the wreckage and downfall of her dreams and future. I watched it all fall apart, and...I didn't even blink.

As Marion's screams echoed through my skull, I stared at Harry's smile. And then I smiled. Marion was smiling, too. We all smiled.

We're one happy lot.

_When we all fell apart._

* * *

It took us some time, but the cab finally reached the hospital and I've already started feeling some kind of unraveling urge to turn away, to escape the inevitable...

I paid the driver his bit and stormed out of the car, skipping three stairs at once as I climbed up to the entrance of the building. There, a man, with one of the sleeves of his shirt empty, passed me by. I looked back at him for a couple of moments, before commencing forth.

_How does one function after the loss of an arm?_, I suddenly questioned myself as I stood at the line that formed in front of the counter. _What if you wrote with that arm? What if you held your loved one's hand with that arm? Is it worse to lose an arm than lose a leg or any other organ? Is it more terrifying than to lose a dream, a soul?_

It was a frustratingly intimidating topic to dwell upon, put it would have to wait for a little while.

"Good day, miss. How may I help you?" the chubby nurse that sat on the other side of the counter called out.

"A friend of mine was hospitalized here, so I'm looking for him."

She glanced at me more closely now; she had probably noticed my paleness and worry drawn all over my features, wherefore she rushed to turn her computer back on and find the needed person in the database.

"What is your friend's name?" she inquired kindly. Bittersweetly, my lips morphed to say his name.

"Harry Goldfarb."

A few types later, and it seemed she had found my love. Although, for some reason, she knitted her brows, looking somewhat stricken.

"Yes, your friend is here," she made a polite smile as she answered, pointing her finger over at the elevator, "He is in room no. 171, the second floor. He's woken up quite recently," her tone became warning, "So I don't want him strained in any way possible. You have only a few minutes."

"Thank you," I nodded, stepping toward the elevator. _A few minutes_, I pondered. _Eternity for me_.

It took me about a minute to reach the room in need, and another half of it to enter. What I'll see inside was still unfathomable, but I wasn't expecting anything good to begin with.

Without knocking, I pushed myself inside, and there he was; pale, completely still, eyes shut cold. He was sleeping, or perhaps just slumbering, or maybe he was even awake. His right arm was settled upon his belly, and his left..._Gone_.

It was frightening, frightening for me indeed. I didn't know if he'd noticed me when I came in, heard the shaking of my troubled breath, if I'd woken him; but I do know it took me a good few minutes to walk up to the bed and seat myself next to him.

"Harry..." I whispered softly, painstakingly brushing some messy strands of his black hair off of his face.

I sat there, for hours, or perhaps it was just a minute. Lost in a daydream.

_Lost...So lost..._

Abruptly, Harry began shaking under my hand; cold sweat dripped from his forehead, down his colorless cheeks. He was stuttering.

"M-"

I bit my lip. His heartbeat and breathing quickened.

"Ma-"

_I can't fucking take this._

His voice sounded hopeful, full of undying need and drive. His whole body threatened to fall off the bed. But I was there to hold him. To help him. To save him. Drag him alongside myself.

However, as suddenly as this seizure of his began, it ended, as his features seemed less and less tense. As if he was dwelling, dwelling in some kind of dark, bottomless pit, without a single ray of light to his side. I watched him, eyed him closely, that feeling of expectation taking over me.

_But what was I waiting for? _

Harry told me, he finally bestowed it to me, my love.

As if it was a final plea of the condemned; the peremptory, blood-freezing cry of a dying animal; a ruthless, very last fit of a murderer, a carnaged soul, a demon trapped before an oncoming tempest - he yelled out his very own piercing requiem. The most beautiful dedication to a dream. The momentum, the fulfillment, the decay.

"MARION!"

I watched my sweetheart jump upward, the terrible realization that it was all just a dream he saw hitting him harder than a maul. I stared into his widened, alerted orbs - all that has gotten shattered in this world was contained in their greenery.

"H-Harry..."

"Marion..."

"She's not here, love."

"She won't come...I...Marion..."

"Harry, I promise you, she-"

"SHE WON'T FUCKING COME!"

We both burst into agonizing, hysterical tears, falling into one another's embrace, as Harry's still-bandaged lost limb prevented him from more serious movements...

We cried. We cried together. Not because we were sad, but because we were broken. It was awful, it was excruciatingly painful, I hated it - but we were together. Our cries, our unanswered prayers, our rapture that we had to let go - all dead. All lost to us, faded, no longer among those who breathe. A whole blasphemy, what was sin and what was not - summed up in our requiem.

_Requiem for a dream. _

_A dream long lost, long gone from this world. _

_A dream that collapsed into a million little pieces, which collapsed into a million more...And a million more..._

_In an extinguished fantasy for which I had lived, bled, and along with my vision, died. Withered._

_I am still lost. I am everything that has got lost. _

_I disappeared into the wind._


End file.
